The Hawthorn was, in a previous incarnation, a pub called The British Queen. Sitting at the Shepherd’s Bush end of the Uxbridge Road (one of London’s great multicultural salmagundis), it wasn’t the most hospitable of boozers – unless your head was shaven, your boots capped with steel and your political views somewhat to the right of Genghis Khan. Then came The Pocket Watch, which tried hard, but lacked charm, a decent pint and pretty much any punters at all.
Then a rather remarkable thing happened. Peter Creed and Tom Noest, those master Cotswold publicans and restaurateurs (The Bell at Langford and The Lamb at Shipton are two of my favourite places in the land) bought the lease and renamed it The Hawthorn. Quite why two country landlords decided to take on a less than bucolic spot on a less than bucolic London thoroughfare is a whole different matter. But, like the eponymous tree, The Hawthorn has quickly flourished and blossomed. And although it’s been open just over a month, it already feels woven deep into the fabric of Shepherd’s Bush.
Devilled kidneys on toast: ‘up there with the best I’ve ever tasted’
Inside, the bar is handsome and unadorned, the walls painted a Colman’s mustard yellow. There’s good draught beer, and one of the finest bar snacks menus in town, featuring charred, buttery toast topped with fat anchovies, a bowl of molten rarebit (like an English fondue, and pure genius), and a vast, smokily magnificent Coombeshead sausage. This small Cornish farm is doing great things for British charcuterie.
Snacks dispatched, we wander over to our table at the back of the room, past Sam Hart (of Quo Vadis and Barrafina, and another happy local), and eat plump, pert devilled kidneys on toast, up there with the best I’ve ever tasted. There are three crisp digits of lamb scrumpet, gently ovine, with a pot of homemade tomato ketchup; and hake, a fish that demands absolute freshness, topped with potted shrimp brown butter. The cheeseburger is rather serious, too.
I’ve long loved (and lived near) the Uxbridge Road, with its giddy mixture of cultures and cuisines. And now – among all that wonderful Syrian, Lebanese, Eritrean and Ethiopian food – there is, at long last, some serious British cooking. The Hawthorn isn’t just a fine local boozer, rather one of the most thrilling West London openings for years. I’ll be back. And back and back again.
About £35 per head. 434 Uxbridge Road, Shepherd’s Bush, London W12; thehawthornpub.com
